That’s it, just jump, don’t think of me, not that you ever do. Same every bloody Saturday. I clamber up some god-forsaken mountain with you, carrying all your paragliding gear, so that you can have a good time. Then you leave me to walk all the way back down again on my own. It would be nice, one weekend, to do what normal people do, a bit of shopping, or a walk in the park. I’ve tried telling you but you never listen. By the way, something I should’ve mentioned before you jumped – there’s a hole in your parachute.
Day 16 of my Drabble Project
(100 x 100 word stories in the month of October).